Fruit of the Poisonous Tree
by Everthought
Summary: When a desperate student comes to his boss's office, Arthur goes with his gut- and against everything he's stood for all his life-to defend a self-confessed serial killer facing the death penalty. Gwen struggles between work and school to prove, with the help of her enigmatic young Psych. prof, her brother's innocence. A dark plot is uncovered & bonds are formed ModernAU NoSlash!
1. Chapter 1

Arthur laid his head on the cool glass window of the cab and looked out. Subdued, early-morning Brooklyn was a whole different lady than racy midnight NYC, and he reveled in the difference; He'd been dating New York City for a while now, trying to find a comfortably-priced place, but until then, just working the hotel circuit-(which surely would come to an end soon, since he wasn't exactly _loaded_ with cash and he still had his loans to pay off)-was enough to give him a reasonable grasp of all sides of his city and enough excitement to keep him on his toes.

He was fresh out of law school- Harvard, actually-and just over a month into the work world, and he still held a profoundly deep, and as his superiors assured him, _highly temporary_ regard for his profession.

The noble pursuit of law, Arthur was told, could be as dark and dirty as anything.

Well, call him an idealist, or, as his father preferred, "naiive," but Arthur couldn't help but believe in his career. Lawyers were, he felt, the embodiment of fairness in law, _symbols_ even- the human factor in the pursuit of justice.

At least that's what he'd said in his graduation speech...or something similar. He wanted to feel like there was something to believe in in this world- something solid, something real, something _fair_.

He loved the law, loved its solidity, loved its beautiful concreteness, its nuanced flexibility…

It was _his_ something to believe in.

And so he was here.

He'd graduated with top marks, which had sufficiently soothed Mr. Pensington's ruffled feathers enough to allow him to hunt for work outside of Boston, where the family had lived for generations.

-Mr. Pensington was his father. Arthur'd always known him, always addressed him as "Mr. Pensington." He hadn't known his father even _had_ a first name until he was eight years old and possessed of sufficient curiosity and boldness that he even thought to ask.

The name was, incidentally, "Luther." Arthur had hated it the moment it'd passed his father's lips accompanied by an irritated eyebrow twitch, and he hated it now, hated its feeling of being _on the verge_ of something that made sense, hated its quality of "almost-ness" that Arthur could hardly explain (and hardly understood, himself).

He'd tried "Dad," once, but Mr. Pensington had fixed him with a glare filled with such incredulous condescension that he'd instantly aborted and tried desperately to pretend it'd never happened.

...He'd found work in New York City, at a prestigious law firm. (He suspected, with no small amount of irritation, that Mr. Pensington had put in a good word for him, for Luther's reach was far and wide), but he liked to think that he stood on his own two feet, too. He was a strong candidate: he had good marks, good rec. letters from teachers who'd adored him; he'd also dabbled in sports in college-boxing, wrestling, some football…(he was a nationally ranked fencing champion…)

"...You gonna get out, son?"

Arthur blinked; they'd arrived at the Cenred & Fay building, and he'd apparently been dawdling. He grinned sheepishly at his cabbie and forked over a wad of cash, shouting "Keep the change!" over his shoulder as he got out and, swinging his laptop bag over his shoulder, made his way to the office building.

"Arthur," a feminine voice cooed as he entered.

"Vivian," Arthur acknowledged with a curt nod, sweeping past the receptionist's desk without stopping, or even glancing at her; he was late, he knew, and he needed to…

"Pensington," a second voice commanded, steel-edged, dripping with disdain, sounding out every syllable of the name like it was something nasty- and this time Arthur did stop, and he whirled around to face the speaker, reflexively muttering, "It's Arthur."

"You're late." It was his boss; like his father, she didn't seem to have (or need) a first name. Her surname, Morgan, was enough to both label her and inspire fear in everyone who encountered her, in a courtroom or otherwise.

She was nearly as tall as Arthur, (taller in stilettos), and about 75% legs, pale and fluid, which she loved to flaunt, along with a near-scandalous peek of cleavage at the unbuttoned top of her blouse. She was probably an attractive woman, but Arthur always felt ridiculously disturbed by her cheekily revealing outfits, itching, often, to button her shirt up to a respectable height, or just buy her a longer skirt.

Nonetheless, she was a respectably frightening woman, and Arthur bowed his head in almost-meek assent to her statement- "Sorry."

She seemed delighted with his apology, flashing a brilliant feral grin. "It's a pity," she mused mockingly. "I've got my hands full with the Oscar case- I was going to let you fly solo today."

Arthur's head snapped up, and she laughed at his sudden zeal. "No matter. I'll simply pass _your_ case off to someone more _dedicated_. Come along, then, _Harvard boy_, I'm sure I can find _something_ for you to do."

And she whisked off, leaving a thoroughly pissed-off Arthur to cough and wave his way through the cloud of perfume she'd left in her wake, the lilt of her laughter echoing irritatingly in front of him as he followed her.

_Damn it! _

Gwen stumbled, exhausted, through the door of the apartment and let her book bag slide unceremoniously to the floor.

It was late, she saw, checking her watch, nearly _morning_, for God's sake.

It'd been a long day, and hard, but it had started off well, at least…

She blushed, thinking of her first class of the day, _Abnormal Psychology_, and more importantly her _professor_…

Just about her _entire_ Med. class had a crush on their young, energetic Psych. professor, with his adorable ears and dimples and those huge, blue eyes...

Gwen shut the door on the draft with a dreamy smile, and turned, hopping and shivering from the cold- and _screamed_, before clapping one hand over her mouth and one above her racing heart, recognizing the figure hunched darkly on her couch as her brother.

"Elyan, you scared me!" She whispered with a shaky laugh, once she'd gotten herself back under control. "What're you doing home?"

The dark figure barely glanced up at her. "Go to bed, Gwen."

"What's wro-?"

"I said go to bed!" He whirled, and Gwen tripped backwards, stricken and stung.

Her brother buried his head in his hands, resting his elbows on the coffee table in front of him. "I'm sorry," he whispered, so quietly she barely heard.

"Good night, Elyan," she tried tentatively. There was no answer, so she picked up her bag again and tiptoed for the stairs.

….

It was maybe three A.M. when Gwen awoke, still in her work clothes with her head pillowed on her bag, to noises and loud voices from downstairs.

She clutched the bedside lamp protectively, straining her ears to hear what was going on.

There was a loud banging on the door, and she shuddered, swinging her feet off the bed- _goodness, it was cold_- and padding silently to the landing, lamp held aloft and threateningly with both hands.

Gwen tiptoed down the stairs, as quietly as she could, and then hid behind the corner; her heart thumped erratically in her chest.

Just as she worked up the nerve to peek around the corner, there was a shout and then a louder noise and then-

BANG! The door was kicked in, and men barged in wearing bulletproof vests, shouting "POLICE!"

Gwen was so startled she dropped her lamp, and it shattered as it hit the floor, making a spectacular crashing sound.

Instantly several guns were pointed at her. She stepped out from her corner, her hands up, shaking like a leaf.

"Gwen?" Elyan's voice. And then, "Don't touch her, she's got nothing to do with this."

"Elyan," she whispered, her voice tiny. "What's going on?"

But at the same time one of the officers stepped forwards, a pair of handcuffs glinting silver in his right hand. "Elyan Smith? You're under arrest-"

"I did it," Elyan interrupted, and his voice was thin and sharp. "I tortured and killed those women. You'll find the evidence and bodies underneath the yellow statues at Rallings Park."

And Gwen staggered back with a ragged gasp, stepping, unintentionally, on the wreckage of her lamp, pain shooting through her foot with the simultaneous crunch of glass. _"What?"_ But no one heard her.

"Well, that's that, I guess," the officer said, and Gwen could see the anger in his eyes, in the muscle jumping in his neck-_but no, no, this was wrong! This had to be wrong! Elyan couldn't hurt a fly!_

She watched with wide, uncomprehending eyes as her brother was handcuffed, roughly, and pressed against the doorway.

His face turned to her, and the sadness in his eyes was overwhelming. _"I'm sorry,"_ he mouthed. _"Sorry."_

And then he was being hustled out of their home like the criminal they thought he was, and Gwen could see the lights on in her neighbors' apartments, and she knew everyone was watching them, and she had glass in her foot and she started forward-

"Elyan!" She screamed, but hands, many and strong, held her back. "Please," she sobbed. "Please, _please, no_. This isn't right. _There must be some mistake_. Elyan's not a murderer- Please!"

She looked up, through her tears, and she thought she saw- _no, it couldn't be_-she wiped her eyes, sure she was imagining things, _but no_, there he was, blue eyes and ears and all, studying her with a look of concerned consternation.

"P-p-professor?" She stuttered, wondering if she'd lost it.

"It's me, Miss Smith," He smiled reassuringly, dimpling sweetly, but she could glean no pleasure from it, not now.

"I believe you," he whispered, leaning in to show her he was serious. "I believe he didn't do it."

"You do?" Gwen sat back on her heels, ignoring what must have been at least a quarter-pound of glass in her foot. relieved to know that _someone_ believed her, believed in Elyan...reassuring her from the beginnings of traitorous doubts...

"_I did it," he'd said…_

Gwen shuddered.

"I'll help you," the professor said, intent. "I'll help you prove he's innocent."

And it seemed ludicrous- how could her Psych. professor prove a man's innocence in a homicide case? How, even, was he here? But she believed him. The way he spoke to her, and looked at her earnestly and determinedly, Gwen _sure as hell_ believed him.

"What can I do?" she asked, emboldened by his promise.

"You need a lawyer," he decided. "A good one."

"Here-" He pulled a piece of paper from his jacket and tore off a piece, hastily scribbling something down on it and handing it to her. "This lawyer, Morgan, helped my Mum through a tough spot, once."

Bending- "Let's look at your foot-"

"I can take care of it," Gwen waved him off, her ears burning. She dropped her gaze from his lovely blue eyes to the words he'd written on what she saw was a piece of some poor kid's essay- "_Cenred & Fay_."

…

…

**Hope you enjoyed it, guys, and please do drop me a review:-) **

**I plan on finishing this story; I have a pretty good idea of where I want it to go, and I think it'll be a lot of fun to write (and hopefully to read, too?) Some of you guys know I've been having a hard time of it, and I just want to thank you all for your support. I will definitely start replying to reviews, because you people are amazing, (and I just realized I could do that….awkward...XD). As for my other stories, I will eventually finish Dreadful Day (Humongous apologies to those of you who are waiting for it), and I will continue to add to my Reveal Series. I will certainly endeavor to update **_**this**_** story with more regularity.**

**Constructive Criticism? Questions? Comments? I'd love to hear 'em!**

**Lots of Love, **

**Everthought :)**


	2. Chapter 2

"_Damn it!"_ Arthur hissed, yanking his hand back and glaring daggers at the roses laying, deceptively harmless, on Morgan's desk.

"_Something to do"_ had apparently translated, in his boss's twisted head, to sorting out client gifts and cleaning out Morgan's office.

His thumb was bleeding from a strategically placed thorn, and he stuck it into his mouth as he stepped back to survey the clutter on the desk: cards, flowers, chocolates-

A sodden, self-conscious cough filtered in through the open door, and a girl crept timidly into the office, knocking lightly on the mahogany as she entered. She was short, frizzy-haired, and tired-looking, dressed in rumpled sweats and a COLUMBIA tee shirt.

Arthur looked up, startled, and yanked his thumb out of his mouth, feeling like an idiot. "It's not what it looks like," he joked, holding up his bleeding thumb.

She glanced at it, then cracked a tiny smile. "The roses?"

He nodded.

"Here." She picked them up expertly. "You got a vase?"

He scratched his head sheepishly, then upturned a pencil holder. The pens and highlighters spilled onto the desk. Morgan was going to kill him later, but he just opened the top drawer and swept them inside.

"Are you Morgan?"

He straightened, and eyed her. She looked too worn and rumpled to be a friend of anyone here, so that meant… He saw a folder tucked underneath her arm… _client_.

Arthur glanced at the name-plate on Morgan's desk, then at the hefty folder in the girl's arms, and made a split-second decision. Morgan wouldn't be back from the Oscar meeting for a while, yet. Nodding, he folded his arms and seated himself behind the desk- "What can I do for you?"

Her eyes were huge: "I can't pay you-"

"Not a problem," Arthur said smoothly, feeling, for the first time since graduating, like a real lawyer. "We do pro-bono work all the time." He hoped that was true, at least. He kicked back on the wheels of the chair and grabbed a pen and pad. "What do I call you?"

"Gwen," she whispered, settling herself, uncomfortably, in the stiff-backed chair directly across the desk from him.

"So, Gwen," He liked the sound of the name as it rolled off his tongue. "What's your story?"

"I'm not really sure," she looked miserable. "I got home last night, and my brother was on edge and he wouldn't talk to me. I wake up in the middle of the night and the police were _arresting_ him for...for...for _murder!_"

_Whoa_. He raised his eyebrows, unsure how to proceed. "Um…"

"But," Gwen leaned forwards, her eyes urgent. "He didn't do it- _he couldn't've_. He couldn't hurt a _fly_."

"You think he was set up-?"

"_Pensington,"_ his blood froze, and he swiveled in his chair as Morgan walked in, haughty and proud, one perfect eyebrow raised superciliously. "I trust you understand that using my office for trysts with your girlfriend is highly inappropriate."

Arthur got up from the chair immediately and brushed it off hastily. "I'm-she-" His cheeks were burning, and he was immeasurably frustrated by how easily Morgan could ruffle him. _"She's a client,"_ he snapped.

And then Morgan swept past him, casting her condescending gaze on poor Gwen, who was huddled like a lost puppy in her chair. "I don't understand," she started, looking bewilderedly between them. "Are you not Morgan?"

Morgan's voice was thin and sharp._ "I'm Morgan,"_ she intoned. "This idiot is Arthur; he's an intern. And you," her eyes were beady and hawk-like as her gaze swept Gwen up and down with unveiled disgust- "are the Leodegrance girl. What are you doing here?"

"How do you know-"

"What's going on?" Arthur cut in, confusedly. He'd done a couple client meetings for Morgan before, and they'd never gone anything like this. "Gwen-"

"Shut it, _Pensington_." Morgan snarled. She whirled on Gwen. "The door's right there. Do you need help finding it?"

"She's got a case," Arthur pressed, stepping in front of the door to face Morgan.

"Yes, and it's open and shut," Morgan snarled. "Her brother is a vile, disgusting piece of _shit-"_

Gwen got up, her eyes blazing- "Don't you dare speak of my brother that way!"

"You've defended killers before!" Arthur raised his hands placatingly.

"And there are some that I've refused to defend," Morgan snapped. "It's not your place to question me!" Her milky skin was rapidly flushing with her fury. "You!" She boomed, a painted finger pointed accusingly at Gwen. "Stay out! No one at this firm will ever represent filth like you-!"

Gwen was clutching the folder in her hands, vice-like; she was chewing her lip furiously and her eyes were roaring. Arthur could tell that her pride was telling her to walk out, but her desperation made her stay. He wanted to help her, he really did. He just wasn't exactly sure how...

"I have a referral," she said, her voice small and trembling with anger. "My..._professor _said you helped him out once-" Gwen reached into her pocket and unfolded a tiny, crumpled piece of paper, on which thin, spidery handwriting spelled something out. She offered it to Morgan, who snatched it up angrily.

And the fury on her features melted...replaced with something else, something akin to...fear? Her eyes widened, and she glanced up at Gwen. "I can't help you," Morgan said again, but her voice was quieter, and there was a thread in it that trembled. She cleared her throat, and the anger was back in her eyes, though perhaps more subdued. "Tell Emrys to stay out." She tore up the paper and turned her back on them. _"Pensington,_" she ordered. "Show your friend out."

Gwen's eyes filled with tears. "Please," She begged. "Please, help me. He didn't do it! They're saying-they're saying-" she took a deep, shuddering breath, and then burst out- "They're saying the death penalty's on the table!"

"As it should be," Morgana said calmly. "I'm sorry." But there was no warmth behind it, and she turned away again, dispassionate as ever.

"Come on," Arthur tugged on Gwen's arm, feeling cowed by her tears. He nudged open the French doors, and led her out.

She shrugged her arm from his grip, and then set about the messy task of cleaning up her face, sagging against the wall as she did so.

"Look, I'll talk to her," Arthur said, his voice low. "She's probably just stressed, she's got a lot on her plate right now." He felt the falseness of his words as he said them, and winced.

"I don't think he knows-" Gwen cried, giving up on her face as a bad job. "I don't think Elyan knows about this legal stuff. He confessed right away when the police came in, and then they g-grabbed him and p-p-put him in handcuffs."

Something in his mind turned. "You think he's innocent?" He asked her again.

She nodded, and the tears streamed down her cheeks. "I'm sure of it."

"I'll take it," he decided. "I'll take your case."

Gwen looked up at him, irritated even through her tears. "You're an intern, _Morgan_."

He winced again. "It's Arthur," he admitted. "Sorry about that. And no, I'm not. Morgan just treats me like one. But I've got a law degree same as her. Here-What if l take it, just until you can find someone better, okay?"

Gwen weighed her options, carefully. "I can't pay you," she repeated.

"We'll figure something out," Arthur said, wondering, even as he said that, how he was going to pull that one off; there was no way he'd be allowed to take a pro-bono case when his boss, a partner in the firm, was so averse to the idea, or when it was, well...his first case.

But-

"Fine." And then she rose to her feet and thrust her folder into his hands. "We start now." She ran the heel of her hand across her face, digging away her tears. "What do we do first?"

Arthur sat back on his heels, considering.

_ This girl was something else._

"Take me to him."

/o\\\\\\\\\\\\\o/o\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\o/o\\\\\\\\\\o/o\\\\\\\\\\\\\\o/

Lance tapped his foot impatiently. He'd gotten the text message in the middle of a blind date which hadn't been going _all_ that poorly, and he hadn't been too keen to up and leave right in the middle of it.

...But he could grudgingly admit that whenever this had happened before it'd been more than worth it in the long run. After all, it was only thanks to this man's help that he'd even been made a detective in the first place...

And so he'd left, hastily apologizing and scribbling down her number...he knew he'd never call her, but that didn't matter now; he was here, and this man had gotten him results in the past…

Too bad he was currently pissing Lance _the hell _off.

"...All I'm saying is, don't be too hasty-"

"HE CONFESSED!" Lance exploded. "I tracked him down- we've got evidence, what's more, that places him at five of the seven crime scenes, he _knew_ where the bodies were _located _for god's sake-"

"When have I ever steered you wrong in the past?" The man's voice was low, and there was a dangerous glint in his blue eyes that belied his youthful appearance as he stared Lance down. "Just don't let yourself be misled."

Lance couldn't help gulping. "Fine," he acquiesced, watching his companion's eyes soften. "I'll keep an eye out; but just so you know, the case is_ officially_ closed."

The man nodded as he pivoted, raising one hand in farewell salute as he disappeared in the darkness. "Take care, Lance."

Lance watched him go, curious, not for the first time, about his enigmatic friend and helper - "You too, Merlin."

**oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

**Hey so having trouble making a narrative break that effectively translates to the FF website. Any suggestions? I know it makes it difficult to read when its just one big block of text.**

**Anyway. Merry Christmas and an early Happy New Year. More to come….**

**As always, please do review. I love it when you comment, even if its (Constructive!) criticism:D**

**thanks, everthought**


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